


perennial

by ninata



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: (basically), (but its hajime sort of), (hes got all duh memories and still struggling w izuru stuff), (izuru is tagged because its hajizurume), (tsumiki is only here at the ending though), Canon Compliant, In which Hinata finally feeds Komaeda, M/M, Post SDR2/Pre DR3 Hope side, hinata actually talks about his feelings, rated T for tsumiki being wildly inappropriate at the end, there's a kiss in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Struggling past the fog of apathy on your own is nigh impossible. Hajime finds that there's one person who understands, who makes him want to feel again.





	

It's a deep seated kind or self-hatred. Hajime hates to recognize it. There was a time he would argue that the two of them were nothing alike; that Komaeda didn't know what he was talking about, comparing them. Hajime didn't remember who he was, then. To deny it any longer would be juvenile.

He hates that more than anything.

They say you shouldn't hang around someone who makes you hate yourself. Hajime normally agrees with that sentiment. Hajime has no reason to put himself near Komaeda, has no reason to walk to his hospital room and fiddle with his prosthetic and listen to him complain. He can repeat that loudly enough in his head that he'll almost believe it's true.

"Hinata-kun."

Soft, breathy. Komaeda's voice sounds like a candle flickering out. There's something unpredictable in Komaeda's predictability, in the intricate dance he performs around any tender subject to the brutal honesty and lack of a filter. Is that why he's drawn to him? All so he can alleviate boredom? Hajime may not be Izuru anymore, but those memories remain, and those intrusive thoughts didn't disappear.

Hajime sits beside his cot. Komaeda's rehabilitation moves slower than the others'. Even now, he looks like a strong gust of wind could render him to dust. Sickly pale skin, sunken in eyes. Why does that make Hajime hurt? He carefully picks apart and examines the feeling. Komaeda's poor health was hardly a concern of his in the simulation. Back when he met Komaeda again on that boat, the state of his poorly amputated wrist and the dead limb hanging off of it didn't phase him. It couldn't have. It appeared that things had changed.

"So you haven't touched your food, yet again." The old Hajime's voice hasn't returned, yet; his tone is flat, and the others have all teased him for it. Emotions have trickled in slowly, but he can say confidently that he's no longer Izuru Kamukura. "They'll hook you back up to the feeding tube if you refuse to eat."

"Is that a threat?" Komaeda taps his finger against the tray of food in front of him. White rice, soup, a humble seaweed salad. "I prefer toast. I keep telling them that, but they refuse to oblige…"

"We can't always make exceptions." Hajime says quietly. This rings familiar, and he isn't sure that he's angered by it. 

It's different, now. Hajime remembers the Komaeda he first met who rattled off silly talents and spoke so gently. He was not always manic and carving a bloody path for hope. The lack of danger seems to have had a positive effect on them. Things have gone back towards normal. 

Komaeda likes to push his luck. "Besides, I'm not used to my prosthetic yet. It's hard to use chopsticks."

Hajime is well aware that his left hand is not his dominant hand. He must have made a face, because Komaeda's lips curl upwards, the sun striking them in a way that makes them look like they're made of gold; he lets out a wheezy chuckle.

"You know what I'm going to ask."

"It's entirely predictable. We've had this conversation before, after all."

"Then, would you, Hinata-kun?"

He may have said no, if he were the undiluted Hajime Hinata he was on the virtual Jabberwock. Izuru wouldn't have complied either. But their combined personalities? They brought a calmer approach. Was it more honest? Why did he need to dodge Komaeda's advances? Why did he need to play some kind of game? With no threat of a motive, no reason for him to feel betrayed, nor any resentment towards being obedient and a discomfort towards tenderness…

Hajime shifts the chair closer. His emotions are numbed, but there is a distinct flutter at the change in Komaeda's expression as he takes the tray. Color comes in splotches on his cheeks, his lips hanging apart in a protest that appears to have died. A person on the brink of death shouldn't look handsome, but Hajime can at least admit it in the comfort of his own thoughts.

He takes a clump of rice in between the chopsticks.

"Say 'ahh'."

Komaeda's lips move as if to say something, but he seems to give up, then complies with the command. There's a nervousness that Hajime doesn't like making his hands tremble, but the rice ends up safely in Komaeda's mouth.

He chews.

"I really do prefer toast." He says, finally. He tilts his head, eyes twinkling. "...Your face is red."

Going out of your way to be around a person that makes you uncomfortable is an idiot move, isn't it? All this talent, and Hajime was still stupid. The regrets, the pain, the feeling that he wasn't anybody until they strapped him into a pod and fucked with his brain— Komaeda makes him face that, and he should hate that. He should hate being caught off guard, he should hate having insecurities pointed out and wounds reopened.

Did Izuru make him like it? Did  _ Enoshima  _ make him like it? Unpredictability, unpleasant truths, making yourself face things you don't want to face— is that something like the despair she preached to him all that time ago?

"Just...shut up and eat." He forces out, and Komaeda seems to accept that response without taking offense. He opens his mouth again, and Hajime feeds him the rest of the rice. Hajime's eyes dart to the bowl on the tray. "Your soup is probably cold now."

"I don't mind—"

"I can heat it up for you."

"But—"

_ I'd rather you stay.  _ He doesn't want to know that's what Komaeda's thinking, and he hates that this supernatural talent makes it so easy. Hajime only offered so the meal could be finished, but… The unspoken loneliness is evident in the short silence between them. It hurts again, and he wonders if he's some kind of pseudo-masochist. 

"...Fine. You want your salad, then?"

Komaeda nods.

Izuru was lonely. Hajime knows that now. Locked in a room for half a year, the only human contact being doctors and test practitioners, Izuru was incredibly lonely. Izuru had no recollection of who he once was beyond a general malice— he had tried to track down people from his past, but it always ended…grimly. 

No one understood him, no one tried to until Enoshima tracked him down. No one understood his boredom, his apathy. No one could understand that yawning emptiness, how he'd do terrible things and feel  _ nothing.  _ Not even the euphoria Enoshima promised. Just empty. They had taken something precious from him, and no matter what he did to try and take it back, nothing  _ worked. _

Izuru wasn't some ethereal being, no god-like superhuman. He wasn't a helpless victim, either. He was a jumble of bones stapled at the joints, possessed by a confused ghost...no, that didn't convey it properly. He was unfortunate happenstance, he was off-white vomit and never expecting better, he was mild and he was simultaneously thoughtless and overanalytical. Brain was always overheating his body, working itself into disrepair. Fingers couldn't move fast enough to keep up with the nerve impulses. He was stitching himself back together as he unraveled, never-ending cyclical movements of the needle through skin. Frankenstein's monster wasn't inherently antagonistic, simply trying to understand why it was given life. Izuru would have related to the story, were it possible for him to have a concept of identity.

Hajime, on the other hand, was a person that despised the fact he couldn't be the superhero or prodigy he wanted to be. Plain and forgettable, inconsequential, Hajime Hinata was someone that faded into the background. He had friends, they came and went. He had hobbies, they never made him feel fulfilled. He was going through the motions of being a background character every day, hating every moment. Nothing was more painful than being nobody. What expectation was he holding himself to that was so unattainable? Was being well-liked and noteworthy in some way  _ really  _ that hard to achieve? It couldn't be. The only answer was that Hajime was particularly inept, so overwhelmingly mediocre that no matter how much effort he exerted, it didn't matter.

Could it ever matter?

Why would people look twice at him? Who would ever keep him around? What did he have to offer? What would ever make a person want to be his friend unless he had something to give them in return? He tried so hard to be someone, but his artwork was sub-par, his writing was repetitive, his singing wasn't exceptional, he couldn't stick to an instrument and his athletics left something to be desired. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried, no matter how hard he dreamed and how inspired he felt, Hajime Hinata couldn't achieve a goddamn thing.

Hope's Peak Academy was his dream school. Surely if he made it there, he'd mean something. He wouldn't feel so miserable. He wouldn't hate his reflection, hate that his hands couldn't create anything worth looking at, wouldn't curse himself when his legs gave out or his brain couldn't grasp things quickly enough. He'd do anything to get there, because he couldn't accept mediocrity. He couldn't bear a life where he never made a name for himself.

But Komaeda…

Komaeda...he understands.

Komaeda accepted his own lack of talent in a way. Even with that overwhelming luck, he was talentless; the luck wasn't based on his own skill, after all. Was that why he was drawn to him? Because in the end, they were very alike? That they both suffered, and that they could lick each other's' wounds and feel sorry for themselves? In a world where losers were forgettable trash, the two left impressions on each other that could never be erased. Even if they were nothing...even if Hajime was nothing, Komaeda still found value in him. Saw hope in him. And Hajime had come to feel the same thing.

"You're thinking something scary," Komaeda says, between mouthfuls. "Aren't you?"

Hajime frowns. "...I just was thinking that you were right."

"Oh?"

"We are alike. In a lot of ways. Those things you said...you weren't wrong."

It's that horrible sick feeling that drew them to one another. Even when Hajime didn't remember, it seemed Komaeda knew. They were the same talentless, faceless people in a mob.

"You're saying strange things." But that isn't a confused tone of voice. Komaeda looks away, his face turned towards the window. The rosy undertones of his hair have an unearthly glow to them, his frizzy locks framing his head like a noose.

Hajime waits.

"I'm glad," Komaeda says shakily, and Hajime can tell immediately that he's in tears.

"You don't need to cry about it." His hand moves without thinking, but he hesitates before tucking some hair behind Komaeda's ear. "It's, um. Uh. Well."

Komaeda's chin tilts back towards him, green irises steadily rounding the edge of his temple and he laughs, wiping away some tears. "Your face really is red." Hajime huffs. Well, at least he was still as awkward as ever. Talent couldn't change that. "But...thank you. Really...thank you."

Even now, Hajime's hesitant to share all the thoughts stewing in his mind. If Komaeda were to accept all of that, what would he do? If he didn't, would he be alright?

Komaeda was confusing. He was confusing and hurtful, and hard to be around. But Hajime liked that.

Hajime liked Komaeda. He could step back and see why Komaeda did what he did in the killing game. He wasn't angry anymore, he didn't doubt his intentions. Of course things were complicated, and he couldn't forgive everything, but in the end, the one person who had unwavering faith in him from the start was Komaeda. The one who nearly confessed so many times was Komaeda. The one who had shown him kindness when he had no reason to...

"It's...nothing to thank me over."

"I suppose it's just nice to hear. That you'd liken yourself to trash like me…"

"You're not trash, Komaeda." Hajime licks his lips. Swallows.

"Haha...I'm...glad you think so." He's still crying.

There was nothing to be afraid of anymore, right?

The reason it hurt so much— it was because Hajime felt the same way. Those eyes that shone like emeralds, distractingly nice smelling hands, a careful voice and bad puns… Komaeda was soft, and Hajime...liked that. Hajime liked him.

His hand hovered, then landed cautiously over Komaeda's.

"I...I like you."

How eloquent. Hajime's heart was hammering against his ribs. This was the feeling; a feeling he never thought he'd feel again.  _ Like. Love.  _ Long dead, the ghost of a thought, resurfacing like a drowned body in a storm drain. It was strangely comforting to put a name to it. 

"Huh?" Komaeda's breath struggled past his lips.

"Wow, your face is so red." Hajime said. He was doing a horrific job at being smooth.

He wasn't actually sure what he was supposed to do next. Leave? Offer a gift bribe? That seemed to work well on Jabberwock. He didn't think he had any Hope's Peak rings on him, though—

"If...you're trying to win some sort of favor, you're doing it in a pretty odd way." Komaeda huffs, cheeks scarlet. "I didn't realize Hinata-kun was that kind of guy."

"Wait wait wait." Hajime splutters. "Excuse me? I give you a heartfelt confession, and this is how it's received?!"

"I see no reason why you'd confess to me, of all people. Did you happen to hit your head on the way here?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Did Tsumiki-san inject you with something strange?"

"Definitely not!"

"Was it Hanamura-kun's aphrodisiac curry again?"

"Komaeda."

He puts his hands up in defense. "Well, maybe it's a parasite—"

"Is it  _ really  _ that hard for you to believe I'm confessing to you?"

Komaeda gives a patronizing smile, and Hajime grumbles.

"It's not your fault! I suppose I'm just the kind of person who can't believe something without proof."

The word  _ proof _ is said with subtle suggestion, and Hajime can feel the hair prickle on his neck as realization dawns on him.  _ He's being baited.  _ He is quite clearly being played into Komaeda's hands, and he glares at his innocent mask of an expression.

"...You want proof?"

"I do."

Tension that Komaeda pretends he doesn't notice. Hajime swallows thickly, weighing his options. Debating how much dignity he has to lose.

"Fine."

"Ah, but obviously, I don't mean to—"

Hajime's free hand handles Komaeda's cheek like it's made of glass. He leans in...and leans in.

He misses spectacularly, kissing Komaeda on the very edge of the corner of his mouth.

...And pulls back hastily. There's a feeling like explosions going off in his chest— waves of sensation coursing from the center outwards. Oh, god. He's so sweaty. He's supposed to be numb, he is, there's supposed to be a dam but the emotions flood over it.

"...Bother...you…" Komaeda's voice fades, snuffed out like a dying flame. Hajime leans away from him, covering his mouth, turned away.

Silence. Tense, anxious silence, crashing against the walls of Hajime's body. It's almost unbelievable he's taken this step forward.

"...I...didn't think you'd actually…" His voice makes Hajime's heartbeat more painful. Komaeda is still, his frame frozen in place.

"There's your proof." Hajime mumbles.

He wonders if he'll ever tell him everything he feels. If he can sit down and spill his guts to Komaeda, tell him about his past and his present and everything he'd forgotten and hidden away. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't terrifying to think about, but he doesn't want to run away anymore.

"I...I'm...You just..." Komaeda's voice is heavy with emotion. When Hajime turns, he sees a smile so bright, he can almost feel its warmth.

"You could at least say it back." Hajime puts a hand back over Komaeda's. He doesn't doubt Komaeda's feelings, but would it kill him to be a bit more direct?

"...On one condition." His free hand curls around a lock of hair. "You kiss me one more time?"

"Okay, and  _ why  _ exactly do I need to keep meeting conditions? Haven't I done enough?"

Komaeda hums innocently, then taps his lips. Hajime could rag on him more, but he decides to humor him. This time he keeps his eyes open, mainly so he doesn't miss. So does Komaeda. They maintain awkward eye contact as he leans back in, and Hajime angles his head so their noses don't bump.

Their lips meet, and his shoulders  _ (he didn't realize they were so stiff) _ relax. There's something so satisfying about it finally happening— a proper kiss. Kissing Komaeda. Oh god, he's actually kissing Komaeda on the lips.

To say it lasted a while would be wrong. To say it even felt that it did would be wrong, too. Hajime had waited too long for a few brief seconds, but Komaeda parted from him quickly, cheeks burning so hard even Hajime could feel it. He wanted so much more than this. If he could be satisfied by one quick peck, would his feelings for Komaeda even be that serious? Or was he being selfish? Something inside him cringes at the thought, that he's getting ahead of himself already.

"I like you too." It's so quiet, if it weren't for the proximity Hajime may not have heard him.

Komaeda may single-handedly bring all of Hajime's emotions back.

He wants to yell. He wants to laugh. He wants to start crying. It's so wonderful to hear it, no "(you)r hope" or anything thrown in to evade the truth, no more murder or motives or wrenches thrown into the process to keep it from existing. Keep  _ this  _ from existing. Keep this, this blossom of a feeling, something living and beautiful and real and…

When was the last time he had something this normal? Better yet— had he ever had something as happy as this before?

His chest felt like it had helium pumped into it. His heart felt light, free to thump with wild abandon against his lungs. The sun almost seemed more brilliant. Komaeda— well, he smelled like a sick person, and his hand was clammy, but he was still radiant.

"...Well, that's one talent you don't have." He says, in a voice so careful it doesn't match his words, "You're a terrible kisser."

Hajime makes an offended noise.

"You'll have to practice! And I suppose I'll have to help."

"Oh. How gracious of you."

This time Komaeda does laugh, and it wavers, teeters like it always did. Hajime would feel embarrassed beyond belief if he weren't drunk off of his happiness. Their faces tilt back towards each other. Hajime steels himself for another kiss, and—

"Komaeda-san, I brought you your—  _ Hiiieeeeek!" _

Tsumiki's shriek is enough to jolt Hajime back so hard he falls out of his chair. There's a clatter, and a puddle of water forms around an overturned cup and a tiny paper container of medication on the floor. Tsumiki has somehow tangled herself up with the blood pressure measuring equipment, and suddenly Hajime doesn't find overwhelming embarrassment so impossible.

"I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt!" She cries, and Hajime staggers to his feet, dusting himself off.

"I can explain—" He starts.

"P-Please, don't hurt meeeee!"

Hajime sighs, walking over to her and helping her get herself back in order.

"H-Hinata-san, I'm so sorry…! I didn't realize you two were having an intimate moment…"

"I-It's—" He wants to deny it, but he shouldn't. He isn't like that anymore. "It's...fine. Just…"

"But...if you t-two need any instruction on proper procedures in having safe anal sexual intercourse…"

Had Hajime been drinking anything, it would be all over Tsumiki. He splutters helplessly for a solid few seconds, before looking to Komaeda for help.

Komaeda has his face in his hands, his frame shaking.

"Oh dear...K-Komaeda-san? Are you alright?"

Tsumiki hobbles over to him, moving his hands—

And he passes out.

"Huuueeeeeh! K-Komaeda-saaaan! S-Somebody get one of the doctors!"

The initial shock kept Hajime frozen, but with a bit more prompting, Tsumiki has him out the door. As Hajime sprints out into the hallway, he curses the fact none of these talent students had any sense of privacy.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm posting this before 2.5 destroys all this good feelings i have , i' have a fever right now so it's hard to type a good author's note but uhhh komahina is a good and i'm finally playing through sdr2 after 4 years and i wish komaeda would hold my hand, killing me instantly sink beta'd this i didn't write this while i had a fever i just finished some dits and im posting it now before 2.5 eats all the food in my fridge and shits on myb ed


End file.
